


I Promise

by Chrysus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eating Disorders, Freshman Stiles Stilinski, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Hug, anamia, it's not nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysus/pseuds/Chrysus
Summary: |TW|CW| Talk of eating disorders, counting, weighing, purging, etc. If any of this triggers you PLEASE DON'T READ!!Stiles hadn’t realised what he’d been doing at first. He had taken to doing the weekly shopping to take the pressure off his dad, his shifts becoming longer and tiresome over the years. Such a small thing shouldn’t have thrilled him this much.Or, Stiles' graphic descent into an eating disorder.Disclaimers inside x
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	I Promise

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!! THIS STORY CONTAINS:  
> -THOUGHTS ON DISORDERED EATING  
> -RESTRICTING  
> -COUNTING CALORIES  
> -WEIGHING  
> -PURGING  
> IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED, OR THINKING OF RELAPSING, PLEASE DON'T READ THIS!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Stiles' experience in this story is closely based on my own. Everyone's experience with an ED is different, I have no intention to ignore or undermine any aspects of EDs.
> 
> I do not own Teen Wolf or any of the characters.

Stiles hadn’t realised what he’d been doing at first. He had taken to doing the weekly shopping to take the pressure off his dad, his shifts becoming longer and tiresome over the years. Such a small thing shouldn’t have thrilled him this much. Shopping for the two of them was so exciting; Stiles could get whatever he wanted, whilst also keeping an eye on what his dad could eat. The doctor was worried about the sheriff's high cholesterol, and so Stiles begin to worry too. He'd already lost one parent, to lose another would be devastating.

He stuck to the doctor's list of safe foods, mainly consisting of fruit, vegetables, fish and low-calorie alternatives. Chicken was fine, red steaks would have to be missed. Fries were too oily, but he could make boiled potatoes work. He could make all of this work.

Soon, the whole fridge was filled with carefully planned meals in some old takeaway containers. Sodas were replaced with low sugar juices, and the biscuit cupboard contained a number of dried fruits, cereal bars and oat cookies. Stiles decided the sheriff could have his beer on the weekends still (he wasn’t a monster).

The control that Stiles now had access to excited him. He felt like an adult by helping his dad; he was growing up, and he wanted to prove he could take care of his dad, just as he had done for Stiles. This focus on food made Stiles feel important, it gave him something to do around the house.

However, in the beginning, the sheriff wasn’t pleased with the sudden change in diet (since when did Stiles care so much for salads!). John would try to sneak snacks home from work when Stiles wasn’t looking. Eating his treasures alone in his room after yet another unsatisfying dinner, and concealing the fast-food wrappers and sweet packets at the bottom of the bin underneath yesterday’s newspaper. John thought he could get away with his little indulgence. However, the boy eventually noticed.

And so, one night, John arrived home to his 15year-old son break down into tears before him, a look of disgust on his face. Stiles had shouted at him, telling him that he was eating himself into an early grave, following Claudia as if he didn’t care he was leaving Stiles behind. The sense of achievement in eating all that terrible food turned quickly into sour shame. How could he have been so dismissive? How had he not realised how worried Stiles had become, hadn't seen the extend in efforts Stiles was making each day? Stiles was doing this for _him_. And he had thrown it all away.

“I’m sorry,” he had said, pulling Stiles into his chest tightly, “I promise, it won’t happen. I'm not leaving anytime soon.”

♛

Stiles had always been a fan of cooking and baking; whenever he couldn’t focus or was over-stressed, he would spend hours in the kitchen. Any type of test or exam he had tended to produce a whole bakery of goods that he’d have to share out to Scott or the neighbours. Now that he was able to fixate on food daily, Stiles found he wasn’t as shifty as he used to be. It felt nice, freeing almost.

Discovering that his dad had been ignoring the perfectly prepared diet Stiles had created made him even more determined to rid the house of any disgusting, greasy foods. Whenever he went out to buy food, Stiles would not only stick to the strict doctor’s list, he also began checking every piece of food and produce for fat and calories. This exercise made Stiles realise how disgusting some of the meals they used to have were. Cheese? Fat. Cream? Fat. Pastries? Fat. So much fat.

Stiles felt sick thinking about the number of calories there were in the late-night burgers and curly fries his dad and he used to have every other day. How many calories were in the lunches his school served? It left stiles stumped – he no longer trusted foods that didn’t have a clear statement of nutrition.

As a result, Stiles began to bring his own lunches into school, neatly packed the night before with a clear calorie count in his head. He ignored Scott and Cora’s odd looks as they both dug into the ‘mystery meat’ that sat ominously in their trays. Stiles ate his tuna sandwich slowly, careful not to look at his best friends eating in case he threw up.

Once, Stiles had tried to bring up the idea that what they’re eating was unhealthy, but they only responses he got were: ‘Since when did you care about that’, from Scott, and, ‘Whatever, it tastes good’, from Cora.

And so, he learnt not to talk about it.

♛

Being aware of how much food he fed to his father, and, as a result, himself, made Stiles question if he needed as much as the sheriff ate. John worked long hours and often used up a lot of energy trying to diffuse fights and crimes, however petty they were. Stiles sat at home, cycled a short way to school, and sat on the bench during lacrosse practice. He came to the conclusion that he didn’t need to eat as much as his dad.

2500 calories turned to 2000, turned to 1000, and finally 500. Each time Stiles lowered his consumption, he couldn’t help but feel happy. Happy. Had he not been happy before? It didn’t matter to the boy anymore; this continuous sense of elation could not be rivalled by anything he’d experienced before.

He had stopped eating lunch in the cafeteria. When Scott and Cora asked him about it, he make something up: “I had a huge breakfast, guys”, or “I ate on the bench, you mustn't have seen me”.

Stiles wasn’t an idiot; he knew he had to eat if he didn’t want to die. But he was nowhere close to that... he was in control. He knew what he was doing. He was counting to stay _safe_.

Control over his food meant that he had control over his body. Stiles had never considered his body to be ‘bad’ in any way. He had always been a bit gangly, perhaps on the skinny side compared to some of his classmates. Last year, the boy had planned on building up some muscle; he had wanted to stand on the lacrosse field without rattling in his shoulder pads and helmet. However, when Stiles began noticing the increasing flatness of his stomach, he liked it. He liked the way he could feel the pronounces outline of his hipbones, he liked the ghoulish look of his ribs. He didn’t think to question why.

At lacrosse, Coach would make the team do laps. Stiles found them hard, he was at the back as always, but he knew they were good for him – burning off any fat he consumed. Bench time allowed him to plan what he was making for dinner that night. Of course, he had already thought about it during the first period... and second, and third. That's all he thought about nowadays. But that’s the price of taking care of what you eat, right? He had to be careful.

At home, Stiles spend a proportionate amount of time looking at online platforms: Tumblr, Reddit, Instagram, finding people like him. They planned their meals, they didn’t eat fatty foods, they took care of themselves. He revelled in the fact that he wasn’t alone. Pictures of skeletal bodies burned into his mind – he wasn’t alone. They were alive, and he was alive.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew it was wrong. He didn’t think he looked sick, his cheeks still too round, wrists too wide. But underneath the faded jeans, comic top and plaid shirt hid the slowly protruding collarbones and knobbly joints that he caressed for comfort. Every now and then, someone would ask if he was alright, if he’d slept okay, if he’d had lunch. Stiles felt like laughing – if only they knew how he was being. Even so, Stiles began making excuses: he’d upped his Adderall making him felt drowsy, he’d had to stay up last night studying. People took them easily, and why wouldn’t they? Stiles could take care of himself.

♛

One day, whilst digging around the house for cleaning supplies, Stiles found some scales. They were old and in need of new batteries, having only used them to weigh luggage for holidays when his mum was still alive. Stiles had taken them to his room without much consideration. The accounts he saw online often talked about how much they weighed, and the goals they wanted to reach. Maybe doing the same would make him feel good, Stiles thought.

Slipping some new batteries into the scales, Stiles set them back down and stepped onto its surface. The blinking screen mocked him for a few seconds before showing a number of 116lbs. The boy stayed still for a moment, considering. Yes, there were people who weighed more, but he knew people who weighed less. He could weigh less.

The front door opened in the kitchen, signalled the sheriff’s arrival. Stiles slid the scales under his bed bunching a hoodie beside it to cover it up before making his way downstairs to heat up their dinner.

After managing to pick his way through the chicken noodles he’d prepared that evening, his dad had promptly shuffled off to bed, muttering something about dealing with delinquent kids for an early shift the next morning. Stiles was left to wash up, leaving his thoughts wondering to dangerous places. 116lbs... he had to do better. Did he need to do more exercise? Probably. Was he eating too much? He wasn’t sure. An apple, a coffee, a cereal bar and noodles. That was what he had counted today – 570 calories.

Placing the last pieces of cutlery into a drawer, Stiles paused. He could try something new, something that might help. He'd seen it online, heard people doing it successfully, but had never attempted it himself.

Making his way back upstairs, Stiles peaked round the sheriff’s door. The man lay half-haphazardly across the bed, unaware of the conscious world. Unaware of his son slipping into the bathroom and sliding the lock behind him.

For a minute, he just stared into the toilet, considering his actions, before sticking two fingers down his throat. Stiles rubbed them at the back, as he’d seen online, and found himself gagging immediately. It felt intrusive, and entirely gross as the boy took his time coaxing any reaction from his poor body. Eventually, his stomach began constricting enough to send up a measly amount of the meal he’d consumed moments ago, the acid burning his throat and filling his mouth with a foul taste. He closed the lid and flushed the toilet.

Leaning back, Stiles breathed. _It worked. It isn't much, but it worked._ He smiled as he tilted his head back onto the cold wall behind him. He wasn’t alone, he could do this.

Getting back up to his feet, Stiles proceeded to swish mouthwash to rid the taste of vomit – brushing would only rot his teeth, he had learnt – and sprayed the small room with an unholy amount of air freshener. He changed into fresh pyjamas, stuffing the previous ones to the bottom of his laundry pile just in case, and climbed into bed. Stiles fell asleep that night, feeling proud of himself, and lighter than he had in weeks.

In the morning, Stiles brought out the scales once more and waited for the screen to deliver the news.

… … … 115.4lbs.

115.4lbs! It was impossible to prevent the grin that had spread across Stiles’ face at that moment. Yesterday’s purge had definitely paid off.

Practically skipping downstairs to pour himself a black coffee, Stiles caught John heading out to work.

“I’m off,” he said, smiling upon seeing Stiles enter the kitchen, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Stiles smiled back at him, giving a little wave.

“I won’t. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> If I've made any mistakes or typos, please tell me xx I've never written about EDs before so I'm pretty nervous.  
> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! (Moderation is on so I can filter any nasty stuff)
> 
> I hope you're all okay <3 Stay safe x
> 
> This is a one-shot, but I may part more parts in future.


End file.
